


Io, Saturnalia!

by afrakaday



Category: Battlestar Galactica, Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2012-07-10
Packaged: 2017-11-08 13:57:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrakaday/pseuds/afrakaday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Fleet-wide party affords Bill and Laura some time to get frisky, "on the Saturnalia, the best of days."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Io, Saturnalia, Chapters I-II

I. A possibility is raised. 

“Madam President?” a voice queried from the entrance to the office. Laura sighed and pushed her glasses back up her nose to look up from her endless pile of paperwork at her aide. “Come on in, Tory.”

Tory handed Laura a folder before sitting nervously on the edge of the chair across from her. “I wanted to go over the agenda for tomorrow’s Quorum meeting. There’s been some talk across the fleet of a Saturnalia celebration, and I think some of the delegates might bring it up.”

Laura frowned, surprised. “Saturnalia?” She thought back to her baby sisters, dressed up in their fairylike little outfits with wreaths on their heads, inordinately pleased at her teenaged self’s gift to them of clay figurines. “We haven’t officially celebrated that since before the attacks on the Colonies.” Though they had observed some civic celebrations on New Caprica, the Cylon occupation had begun before they’d had an opportunity to meaningfully celebrate this particular holiday; the Cylons’ objectives were averse to both legitimizing the Lords of Kobol, and the inversion of the social order Saturnalia entailed.

Tory nodded. “I know. I think that’s part of the problem. People want a break, an excuse to party and re-charge. Morale is low across the fleet. I think the Quorum is inclined to move that we celebrate the holiday this year.”

Thrumming her fingers against her desk, Laura considered the proposition. “How long of a celebration are we talking about here? Do you remember the backlash against Adar when he tried to cut it from seven days to five? I thought he might lose his reelection bid on that misstep alone.” There had, in fact, been rioting on five of the Twelve Colonies, as blue-collar workers and the pubs that served them resisted Adar’s attempt to curtail what they viewed as their entitlement to a week-long bender.

“I think the fleet would be content with a celebration lasting a few days, ma’am. Many people never get a single day off; there would be a lot of goodwill and increased morale to gain from even just four or five days’ break,” Tory answered carefully.

Laura was well aware that many members of the Fleet worked hard, long hours with no reprieve. The recent labor stoppage on the tylium refinery ship had proved just how much a break was needed. Saturnalia truly was the best of the Colonial holidays, with all its presents, costumes, and merrymaking. If this was feasible, she decided, she would support it.

“Okay,” she agreed. “Yes. I’ll head over to _Galactica_ later this evening to discuss security and defense logistics with Admiral Adama, and see if we can figure out a way to keep essential services running.” She paused, running her fingers through her unruly hair and twirling a lock around her finger. “But a Saturnalia celebration is a good idea. The current situation is too volatile; we’ll never make it to Earth if we self-implode in the meantime.”

Tory smiled tightly. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to assist in the planning, Madam President.” She rose to leave.

“Thank you for the advance notice about this, Tory,” Laura called after her. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning for the Quorum.”

 

 

 

 

 

II. Consulting with the Admiral. 

Laura perfunctorily rapped on the hatch to Adama’s quarters, nodding dismissively at her guards, before breezing in and kicking off her pumps. “Bill?” she called, not seeing him.

Bill emerged from the head, his tunic unbuttoned. “Hey,” he said easily. “How’s your day been?”

She grinned and crossed the room to him, grasping his forearm when she reached her destination. “Get this, Bill. I think the Fleet is going to celebrate Saturnalia!”

“What?” he said incredulously. “And you’re excited about this?” He looked at her, agog. “I don’t know that this is the best time to take a week off, Laura.” He frowned slightly. “We’ve got no tylium; kind of need that to keep trying to find Earth. And I doubt you’ve forgotten that Baltar is currently cooling his heels in the brig, waiting for a trial."

Laura grabbed his hand before he could name another reason why they shouldn’t celebrate the holiday and tugged him over to the couch, where they both sat, comfortably close, within arm’s length. She tucked her bare feet beneath her. “Okay, so there are definitely some details that need to be worked out. I actually wanted to coordinate with you before the Quorum meets to discuss the holiday so I can address any security concerns that might come up.” She smirked at him as she unbuttoned the top button of her blouse and shrugged out of her jacket.

“As for Baltar’s trial, this is the perfect opportunity to preempt any attempt at martyrdom he’s going to make. Right now, people are eating up his message about the ‘emerging aristocracy’ and ‘enslaved underclass.’ If we give the people a chance to subvert that perceived social structure, it allows tensions to diffuse _before_ the trial instead of during or after. Plus, the trial’s not scheduled for another month. Having this holiday takes the attention off the build-up to the trial.”

Bill nodded, understanding. “Very cunning, Madam President. Though I’ve learned to expect no less of you.”

That statement elicited the stunning smile she reserved solely for him in moments like this. “As for Earth, I remain-- _we_ remain—committed as ever to finding it in all haste. However—” she paused, a troubled look passing over her features, “frankly, we got lucky with the recent situation on the _Hitei Khan_. Those people’s grievances were absolutely warranted. I think that it’s more important to finally give the people a break now, while we can, than to keep telling them that we’ll be at Earth soon and they should just keep working ‘till then. That line is obviously untenable.”

She looked into his eyes to see whether she was winning him over, and felt emboldened by the silent support she found in those blue depths. “Furthermore, as the Raptor crash into my ship aptly demonstrated, people are mentally and physically exhausted, and soon it’s going to bite us in the ass.” Bill guffawed, but she continued, “They need a mental break. You and I need to figure out the logistics of preserving essential services and not leaving the Fleet entirely defenseless, it’s true. But I think it can be done.”

“Okay,” Bill assented. “So we celebrate Saturnalia in space for the first time. Not really the type of thing the military tends to embrace, what with the total disregard for hierarchy and all.” He leered at her, trying to get a glimpse down her shirt as he recalled surreptitious celebrations in the pilots’ quarters of his youth; despite the admiralty’s official line, the holiday had still been the easiest opportunity to get laid outside of Fleet Week in Caprica City. “But I’ve missed this particular holiday.” Rising from the couch, he moved toward the drinks cart. “Care to get the debauchery started?”

“Ambrosia for me, thanks,” Laura said, feeling prematurely festive. She accepted the proffered libation and leaned back into her refuge of well-worn leather. “We’ll need to figure out a way to manufacture a whole lot more booze to really do this thing right.”

“I’ll talk to the Chief,” Bill said absently, swirling the liquid in his glass. “I don’t think it’ll be a problem. I’m more concerned about our lack of refined tylium reserves and the prospect of coordinating an effective CAP while we’re encouraging everyone to eat, drink, and be merry.”

Laura nodded. "Here’s what I’m thinking. Bring in guest workers to the tylium ship between now and the holiday; keep the plant running continuously until then. We’ll have enough tylium for the Fleet to jump, if need be. As for the CAP, don’t you have a CAG to whom you can delegate the responsibility of figuring out pilot duties and ensuring everyone gets adequate R&R?”

“Listen to you!” Bill chortled, impressed at her facile use of military lingo. “Talkin’ the talk." She rolled her eyes at him. "All right. So, speaking of everyone getting R&R, obviously we’ll have to exempt cooks and food processors from the work holiday, right?”

“I don’t think so,” Laura said. “As long as we have someone figure out a rotation that allows everyone to at least enjoy more of the holiday than not, I think the people in jobs that are necessary for this holiday to happen will be willing to pitch in.”

“Some break is better than no break at all," he agreed. "Hmm. A break sounds pretty damn good, actually."

She smiled winningly at him and went in for the kill. “Bill?” she wheedled.

“Yes, Laura?”

“Could we use your hangar deck for the main celebration?”

He did a double take. “Excuse me?”

She leaned in toward him conspiratorially. “It’s by far the biggest space on any of the ships. We can shuttle people in, dock entire ships and let people disembark, set up a big food buffet, have music, maybe even a Saturnalia market…” Her fingers trailed along his sleeve, coming to rest on the soft skin at the inside of his wrist. “And of course it would make it very convenient for me to stay here for the duration of the holiday if this is where it’s all happening.”

Bill gulped; he really had no resistance when it came to this woman. “You know you’re always welcome in one of my beds,” he conceded, enjoying the promise held in her sparkling eyes. “I’ll talk to the deck crew, see what they think about what it’ll take to set it up and break it down, how many people they think it can hold.”

“Great!” Laura said happily. “That just leaves the matter of the costumes and hats. We’ll have to set up some sort of collection of colorful clothes and put people to work making new things out of the material.”

“Hats?” Bill sputtered. “Isn’t that, uh, frivolous?”

Indignant, Laura harrumphed: “It’s a very important tradition! Saturnalia hats are an outward manifestation of the sentiment that everyone is of equal stature.” She paused, considering. “Maybe you military types don’t appreciate that because you’re used to wearing uniforms.” She took a sip of her drink and continued, “But costumes are important to properly celebrate the holiday, too. Do you know what people are wearing on some of these industrial ships? Dirty gray coveralls. All the time. No wonder they’re so depressed.”

“You only have a few outfits,” he stated approvingly, reaching out to slide his hand along her hip and smooth the material of her skirt. “And I never find them depressing. Though I would hate to see you in coveralls.”

“Well, I could say the same of you, Bill. But this holiday isn’t really about us.”

“Sure it is,” he disagreed. “Saturnalia is about a break from business, the serious, the mundane. It’s about you and I getting a chance to just be Laura and Bill for a little while. It’s about the twelve year olds working on the _Hitei Khan_ to just be kids for a while."

He stood and walked over to a pile of books in the corner of the room, squatting down to paw through them purposefully. Selecting a thin volume, he flipped through it, muttering, "I think it's fourteen...? Aha! Here it is. ‘ _Saturnalibus, optimo dierum_!’” he quoted enthusiastically, rejoining Laura on the couch and pointing the relevant text out to her.

Laura quirked an eyebrow, impressed. “Martial?”

“Catullus,” Bill corrected. “On the Saturnalia, the best of days!”

Laura took a moment to look over the poem, skimming the Caprican Standard translation of Catullus’s reaming out his friend over a Saturnalia gift of a book of poetry so terrible as to pose a threat of death--”and on the Saturnalia, the best of days.” How tragic. She snorted at the pun about “bad poets’ bad feet.”

"I didn't realize you studied ancient languages, Bill," she said, looking up at him curiously. "I took a few courses myself at university. Haven't thought about it for a long time."

"I had a fair amount of time for scholarly pursuits after my divorce," he explained. "I enjoyed collecting these old translations, but found myself wanting to read the original so I could actually appreciate the rhythm of the verse."

She smiled at having revealed yet another aspect of Bill’s complex inner life. This man would never cease to amaze her. She glanced at the stack of books he’d rifled through; she’d have to take a look to see if it contained additional Saturnalia-related resources she could consult in advance of the holiday.

Laura raised her glass in a toast. “Here's hoping no one tries to kill us with bad poetry like Calvus did to poor Catullus.”

Bill laughed and raised his glass in return with one hand, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear with the other. “So say we all.”

 


	2. Io, Saturnalia, Chapters I-II

 

III. The Quorum deliberates. 

Laura skimmed the printed agenda for the meeting; they were getting through each order of business surprisingly quickly. “I wonder how much resistance they’re expecting me to put up on this Saturnalia idea,” she thought, amused at the idea of shocking the Quorum.

The penultimate point having been wrapped up, Laura directed the delegates to the final item on the day’s agenda. “It has come to my attention that there are some rumblings in the fleet about possibly returning to a traditional celebration of the Saturnalia holiday. Would anyone like to open the discussion?”

Marshall Bagot, the Virgonese delegate, rose. “Madam President, the 16th day before the Kalends of January is two weeks away. As you are aware, that is the traditional date for beginning the celebration of Saturnalia, a holiday that has not been celebrated for the past three years due to various circumstances. All across the Fleet, we are getting reports of poor morale, physical exhaustion, and widespread depression. I believe, and I know I am not alone in this, that a Saturnalia celebration would alleviate some of these problems.”

Laura hummed noncommittally. “Anyone else care to address the point?”

Reza Chronides stood. “Madam President, I would second everything Delegate Bagot has said. I think that with adequate planning, an enjoyable Fleet-wide celebration is possible. It’s an opportunity to provide the people some mobility; get them off their ships, let them shop or trade and dress up. We can pool the Fleet’s recreational resources. It’s an important concession to the culture we’ve left behind and a meaningful way to give people hope about what’s to come.”

Several delegates nodded emphatically, but Laura noticed several steely-eyed glares directed toward Chronides and Bagot. “Do I hear any dissent?” she asked neutrally.

Surprising no one, Sarah Porter was quick to jump up. “This is a waste of time and scarce resources!” she complained. “The scriptures don’t say anything even remotely favorable about getting drunk and gambling, and we all know that’s what this holiday is really about. It’s a hedonistic folly that will only distract the people from what should be a singular purpose of getting to Earth. Yes, morale is low, but the people realize that the Fleet can’t keep moving and humanity can’t be sustained without the important work of the tylium refiners, the algae processors, the water recyclers.” She paused. “Especially the water recyclers. How exactly are we supposed to give everyone a week’s break?” She returned to her seat. “I guess that’s a rhetorical question,” she grumbled, sensing the Quorum’s disapproving reception to her tirade.

Laura quirked her eyebrow at Tom Zarek in unspoken invitation. He raised his hands in a shrugging gesture and shook his head slightly, indicating that he had no problem with a celebration of the holiday. Gazing around the room, she addressed the delegates.

“There are some major logistical concerns to consider here, not least of which is the security and defense of this Fleet.

“Yet, with adequate planning and in consultation with the Admiral, I believe a five-day work holiday is not out of the question. As we saw recently with the _Hitei Khan_ , the people have been worked to their breaking points. If we are going to take a break, the time to do it is now, and it is a fortuitous circumstance that it happens to coincide with one of the most-beloved holidays celebrated on the Twelve Colonies.

“The Office of the President therefore will support and coordinate the celebration, if the Quorum decrees that the holiday be observed. Delegate Bagot?”

Bagot rose and spoke clearly. “I move that the Quorum declare the 16th day before the Kalends of January the first in a five-day celebration of Saturnalia.”

Chronides seconded the motion, and Laura called the vote: ten in favor, with only the Gemenese and Canceron delegates voting against.

“Motion passes,” Laura announced, unable to contain her pleased expression. “Good work today, everyone. Meeting adjourned.”

 

 

 

IV. Picking the _Principes_. 

Laura and Bill were seated next to one another in her office on _Colonial One_ , reviewing the final details of the upcoming celebration. “So you see, Madam President, Apollo has worked out this rotation that will allow for a CAP and includes numerous measures to ensure that the pilots aren’t drunk for their shifts,” Bill was saying as he pulled a paper out of the folder on his lap. Laura gave a cursory look at the sheet but soon returned her gaze to the Admiral’s crotch, wishing the holiday would just start already. Noticing her lack of concentration, Bill tipped her chin up with his fingers to bring her eyes to meet his. “Hey,” he said softly.

The moment was lost when Tory rushed in, causing Bill to hastily withdraw his hand. Laura glared at her aide.

“Madam President, Admiral,” she started, standing awkwardly before them. “I’ve just finalized the details for the school and work holidays across the Fleet. At this point, we just need to schedule the main celebration’s location and time.”

“ _Galactica_ ’s starboard hangar deck and landing bay will host the main party,” Bill said, glancing at Laura and smiling. “It has space for the biggest amount of people. We should be able to shuttle people in and out each day so that everyone can enjoy it in addition to the couple thousand civilians already living there.”

Laura frowned at the mention of Dogsville. “Have the conditions improved enough that we can hold the party there?”

“I’ve got a deck crew detail cleaning it up as we speak,” he promised. “The civilians are helping out. Morale is at an all time high with the anticipation for this thing.”

“So that’s settled,” mused Laura. “Good. Tory, have you been in contact with the ships’ captains about a docking schedule? And with the wireless operators so we can broadcast the party to the other ships?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tory nodded. “The wireless broadcast is all set. And we’ve just been waiting to finalize the docking schedule until we know exactly when the ceremony will be.”

“What ceremony?” Bill rasped.

“A kickoff ceremony,” Laura explained. “You and I will address the crowd and make a ceremonial transfer of power to the new ‘Admiral’ and ‘President,’ who will preside over the celebration.”

“Right,” Bill said. “I’ve been thinking that my _Saturnalicius princeps_ will be Jaffee.” He looked at Laura and wagged his eyebrows suggestively. “You know, the one who brings the coffee to my quarters every morning.” Blushing, Laura nodded. “Have you decided to whom you’ll transfer the Presidency, Laura?”

Neither Bill nor Laura noticed the expectant look on Tory’s face. “I haven’t been able to think of anyone,” Laura admitted. “Perhaps Delegate Cantrell’s new aide, Mara.” A strangled cry rose from Tory’s throat, which she quickly cleared. Laura continued, “She’s young and from Sagittaron, and I think it suits the spirit of Saturnalia to have my _princeps_ be someone from one of the so-called 'exploited’ colonies.”

Sulkily, Tory wrote down the names into the notes she was taking on her clipboard, pen scratching angrily across the paper. “Will there be anything else?” she ground out through clenched teeth.

“No, thank you, Tory. Head on out to the press room and I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.” Tory turned on her heel and flounced out of the room. Laura and Bill barely noticed the aide’s discontent as they turned to one another.

“Bill, this is really happening!” Laura exclaimed breathily. “No responsibilities for five whole days!”

“So, Laura,” Bill growled, leaning closer, “whatever will you do with all that leisure time?” He slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her deeply, tongues tangling, his teeth nipping her bottom lip.

Pushing him away playfully, Laura lectured him. “Saturnalia hasn’t started yet, Husker. I still need to go to this press conference, at the conclusion of which I will adjourn the Quorum for the holiday.” Though her body moved to put distance between them, her eyes remained locked on his, full of promises for the days to come.

 


	3. Io, Saturnalia, Chapters V-VIII

V. An early morning phone call.

Laura eyed the nearby handset as she reclined in her cot, debating whether it was too early to call. Desire to hear his voice overcame any lingering doubts, and she picked up the receiver and asked to be put through on a secure line to the Admiral.

“Hello,” she greeted him in response to his brusque _“Adama.”_ “Saturnalia morning at last!”

 _“Wish you were already here with me,”_ he told her.

“We both had things to take care of before the ‘cessation of all official business,’” she laughed. “How are preparations going over there?”

_“Good. The hangar and landing bay look great, all cleaned up and decorated.”_

She hummed in approval. “How are _your_ preparations going, Admiral?” she asked, her voice dropping to a husky tone.

_“Well, I’m shaving, so I don’t give you stubble burn later...did some stretching so I don’t pull anything...”_

“Sounds ambitious, Admiral. I’m still in bed.”

A beat of silence, then he growled, _“Nice,”_ before continuing. _”Being the Admiral, I got first crack at the Saturnalia market yesterday as it was being set up. Found you a traditional Saturnalia present.”_

“Oh, Bill! I haven’t had a chance to get you anything yet!”

 _”You don’t have to get me anything."_ He paused, and she envisioned him standing at the mirror in the head, stretching his face to get a close shave and asking her to hand him a towel. _"Just getting time to spend with you, Laura, is the best gift I could wish for.”_

“Well, only a couple more hours until we get to do just that. I’ll meet you in CIC and we’ll go over to the celebration together?”

_”Sounds good.”_

“Bye, Bill.” She hung up the handset, barely able to contain her excitement as she flung off the bedclothes and scurried to the shower to begin her day. So Bill had gotten her a traditional gift, she mused as the water sluiced over her body. That probably meant candles; she couldn’t quite see the manly Admiral buying clay dolls. Candles, though; how...inspiring. She took the image of candlelight flickering across his intimate quarters to its logical conclusion and immediately decided on a gift for Bill. Hopefully there’d be some good lingerie for trade at this Saturnalia market.

 

 

 

VI. The party begins.

Laura and Bill strolled arm in arm through the corridors on the way from the CIC to the starboard hangar deck. “Where’d you get this hat?” he asked, gazing critically at the pink and purple cone with streamers bursting from the top perched upon Laura’s head. It complemented her pretty purple robe, he decided.

“Hmm, I may have taken a quick peek into the Saturnalia market when I first arrived here this morning,” she admitted. “Couldn’t help myself. This hat makes me feel...princessy.”

Bill chuckled. “From President to Princess,” he said, shaking his head at her fondly. “It really is Saturnalia.”

“We’ll find something for you, too, Bill,” Laura promised. “Oh, this is going to be so fun!”

They could hear loud celebratory noises from the hangar deck long before they reached it. Looking in over the crowd, then at each other, they both laughed at the ridiculous scene unfolding before them. Colorful outfits and hats equalling or exceeding Laura’s in absurdity were de rigueur. All across the hangar deck, groups of people were chatting animatedly, gambling at Triad and dice, and eating; there was even a pickup Pyramid game going on.

Laura scanned the crowd in search of familiar faces; the _Galactica_ crewmembers and even her own marines were nearly unrecognizable in their festive togs. She saw Kara Thrace, clad in a diaphanous blue robe, putting her similarly-attired husband to shame on the Pyramid court. Throngs of civilians, some of whom she recognized from New Caprica, surrounded the long banquet table.

Bill seemed to be engaged in the same activity. She pulled at his sleeve. “What do you want to do?”

He immediately pointed out that although it was only 1100 hours, every person on the hangar deck seemed to have a drink in their hand. “Might as well join ‘em,” he stated sheepishly.

Laura was inclined to agree. “Lead the way,” she said, looping her arm through his and clasping his right hand in both of hers. “But after this, we find you a hat, all right?”

Bill just grinned at her.

 

 

VII. Saturnalia ceremony.

“Bill, it’s time for the ceremonial transfer of power,” Laura interrupted Bill’s conversation with a decidedly inebriated Colonel Tigh, who was drunkenly ranting about “frakking toasters.” “Come up to the stage with me.”

“Where are our _Saturnalicii principes_?” he asked her.

“Tory rounded them up already. Look, they’re over there waiting for us.”

Bill glanced in the direction Laura was gesturing; indeed, a very nervous-looking Jaffee and dark-haired girl who couldn’t be more than twenty years old were shuffling back and forth by the side of the stage. He noted with amusement that they both wore appropriately ridiculous hats--she a small pillbox with a tulle veil, he a white chef’s hat-- as he thoughtfully stroked the wide brim of his own embroidered sombrero.

“They don’t look very ready to take on the mantle of authority,” Bill whispered in Laura’s ear.

She giggled and rolled her eyes at him. “It’s hard being on top,” she agreed.

At the image that provoked in his mind, he slipped his hand beneath her filmy purple robe to give her bottom a discreet slap as he gently guided her toward the stage. He watched Laura in admiration as her face betrayed no reaction to his overtures, slipping effortlessly into politician mode. She smiled broadly and began to address the crowd.

“People of the Fleet,” she began, “Io Saturnalia!”

“Io Saturnalia,” the huge crowd chorused back.

“I am extremely pleased to officially declare this the beginning of our Saturnalia celebration. For the next five days, we will enjoy a holiday from work, school, and other official pursuits. Rank and occupation are to be forgotten; we are all equal.

“The poet Lucian once wrote about the spirit of Saturnalia, suggesting that Saturn himself would have instructed that:

> During my week the serious is barred; no business allowed. Drinking, noise and games and dice, appointing of kings and feasting of slaves, singing naked, clapping of frenzied hands, an occasional ducking of corked faces in icy water—such are the functions over which I preside.

“While I hope that you all can avoid singing naked-- we have a very nice array of costumes available for trade, although I also understand that strip Triad is inevitable-- this holiday is an opportunity for you all to enjoy some freedom from the many constraints that are an unfortunate aspect of the current circumstances of our existence. So please, enjoy the food and music, enjoy one another’s company, and take this time to be free from your responsibilities. At Saturn’s feast, for just a few days, we pretend we are back in that time of bliss and plenty, ‘when wine flowed in rivers, and there were fountains of milk and honey; when all men were good and all men were gold,’ as Lucian says. I hope that this celebration reminds us of what we have to look forward to in the days ahead. With every fiber of my being, I intend that our next Saturnalia celebration will take place on Earth!”

“So say we all,” sounded a shout from the back of the crowd. More people joined in on the next round, and the next, until an enthusiastic chorus echoed powerfully through the hangar bay. Laura looked at Bill; he had stepped forward and had a look on his face that said “oh fun, they’re playing my favorite game!” as he gleefully projected his booming baritone. “So say we all!”

Once the crowd had settled down from its excited chanting and hollering, Laura gestured for Bill to join her at the podium. “With that, the Admiral and I would like to introduce your _Saturnalicii principes_ , who will be presiding over these festivities in the place of Admiral Adama and myself.”

“From _Galactica_ , we have Private Stewart Jaffee. Mr. Jaffee, come on up,” Bill invited.

Laura spoke up next. “And from the civilian government, may I introduce Ms. Mara Silva, who is an aide to the Quorum delegate from Sagittaron.”

The young _principes_ tentatively climbed onto the stage, where they were greeted by the President and Admiral. The crowd applauded politely, though Laura sensed that it was losing patience with this ceremonial interlude and anxious to return to the party. Jaffee looked vaguely green, and Mara played nervously with her hair as she feebly waved at the watching audience.

After she and Bill finished shaking the hands of each _princeps_ , Laura returned to the microphone. “With that, I declare the Fleet closed for business! Mind your new rulers, everyone!”

Bill leaned over to whisper hurried instructions to Jaffee. “So, obviously, you don’t have to bother bringing me my coffee or anything for the duration of holiday. But neither do you get to take over my quarters, or necessarily get together with your counterpart there,” he intoned seriously, gesturing toward Mara. “Although if you do happen to hit it off...good for you.”

 

 

 

VIII. Gambling, gambolling, and gossiping.

“Come on, baby! Hard six, hard six,” Bill yelled at the dice tumbling from his hand. His face fell when they finally landed. “Damn.”

“Pay up, Adm-- uh, Bi-- uh, you,” stuttered a very drunk Dee.

Bill grinned good-naturedly at his daughter-in-law. “You’re cleaning me out, Dee.”

Narcho interjected, “Nah, these damn nuggets are gonna take it all!” He slugged one of said nuggets in the shoulder without malice.

From a distance, Laura watched Bill interacting with his crew. She hadn’t seen him this relaxed since New Caprica, and she’d certainly never seen him act so casually with his subordinates. Bill looked at her from beneath his huge sombrero and winked at her.

“Looks like someone thinks he’s getting lucky,” teased one of the women Laura’d been chatting with. The other women, all civilians, tittered knowingly.

“Oh please!” demurred Laura. “The Admiral and I are just . . . very close friends.”

“Mmm-hmm,” snickered another woman. Laura blushed into her drink and took a long pull of the Chief’s rotgut, specially distilled for the occasion.

“Probably a lot harder for the two of you to find time now than it was when you were teaching on New Caprica,” posited a woman who’d lived just a few tents down from Laura.

Laura snorted. “We have ‘responsibilities,’” she enunciated, stressing each syllable of the final word.

Her former neighbor cocked her head. “Not for the next few days!” she gibed knowingly.

“Hmmm,” Laura agreed vaguely. “I need to refresh my drink. Excuse me.” She sauntered off to the bar, leaving a group of snickering ladies in her glittery streamers’ wake.

As she set her glass down on the bar, she was unsurprised to find Bill at her elbow. “So, you come here often?” he teased.

“As often as I can,” she purred back. Remembering the conversation she’d just left, she put something resembling a respectable distance between them, before leaning back in and hissing in his ear, “Bill! I think everyone knows about us!”

He was unable to contain his smug expression. “Heh. Yeah.”

“Bill, that’s not good! I thought we were being discreet, but apparently not discreet enough.”

“Laura.” He trailed a hand along the side of her upper arm in a calming gesture. “It doesn’t matter either way. Especially now. We’ve just given everyone free license to be completely hedonistic; no one will be in a position to judge by the end of this holiday.”

She shivered at the husky tone of his voice. “You’re right.”

He put his arm around her shoulders and was pleased when he felt her relax against him, her body language confirming her earlier verbal concession to his point. “And, I can dance,” he murmured, pressing his lips to the top of her head. “Shall we?”

She smiled up at him. “I thought you’d never ask.”

 


	4. Io, Saturnalia, Chapters IX-X

IX.   A dramatic reading.

Galen Tyrol slugged back another generous shot of moonshine as he took in the chaotic scene surrounding him. Figurski came over and sat beside him. “Liquid courage, Chief?” he inquired, nodding toward both the half-filled jar of clear liquor and the scrawled notes Tyrol clenched in his hand.

Tyrol grunted. “I don’t know how I got roped into this,” he complained. “Why me? This is a bad idea. The worst idea ever, actually.”

Slapping Tyrol heartily on the back, Figurski chortled, “You’re the only one they won’t put in the brig or execute for this stunt, man. The Admiral needs you on deck too much and Roslin respects you as a leader.”

“I know!” he moaned. “And I’m about to throw it all away for a laugh.” He glanced at the stage gloomily. “I think the band is about to take a break. Now or never, I guess.” He quickly tossed the remaining rotgut down his gullet and slammed the glass on the counter, signaling the bartender for another. Thus re-fortified, he grasped the glass and strode boldly toward his doom.

The band’s final lingering notes rang out across the room, and the singer intoned into the microphone, “That’s it for your _Galactica_ house band, the Saturnalia Swingers, for a little while...let’s give it up for Chief Tyrol, who will be reading a poem collaboratively written by the _Galactica_ crew in honor of the occasion of Saturnalia!”

The crowd broke out in enthusiastic applause as Tyrol took the stage and the band exited. Many _Galactica_ crewmembers, having either contributed to the literary endeavor or at least some idea of the content to come, began whooping and snickering. Tyrol held up his hand in an attempt to subdue the crowd and began a sullen introduction: “Under duress, I have been...uh, nominated--” he found Lee Adama in the crowd below him and gave his most withering glare--”to share with you all a poem dedicated to the people who are responsible for us being here today.”

He saw Adama and Roslin together on the crowded dance floor and forced himself to look away; there was no way he’d get through his task if he watched his subjects’ reactions. Taking a deep breath, he began to read in a loud voice. “This is called ‘An Ode to Our Leaders.’”

>   
> 
> 
> While our leaders are frakking, all hell breaks loose;  
>  When there’re Cylons on Dradis, no chance of truce.

> We depend on you people, no matter what  
>  To be selfless, and steadfast, and not just sluts.

Laura looked at Bill, her eyebrows raised. This did not bode well, she thought. Bill merely looked interested.

> We need sunlight and freedom! Fun would be nice.  
>  And this planet you promised? Don’t fool us twice.

> It’s been nary two months sans Cylon attack,  
>  For this short reprieve, why not hop in the rack?

> There are jumps to be plotted, that much is true.  
>  But this planet’s locale you guess while you screw.

“Damn, they’re onto us,” Bill teased her. Laura slumped against him, suddenly light-headed.

> ‘Cause you’re too busy frakking, all night and day;  
>  “A frak every hour keeps Cylons away.”

> Must be your theory, for why else would you think  
>  To role-play with handcuffs and whips in the clink?

> Busy licking and thrusting hard and so fast,  
>  All the frakking you’re doing? Schedules are trashed.

> For quick meetings in ward rooms, sometimes the loo  
>  In her office, his quarters, sickbay will do.

> (Long as Cottle’s not watching--try as he might  
>  Angry Admiral’s glare will soon set him right.)

“Oh. My. Frakking. Gods!” Laura choked, standing up straight again. She thought she might die of humiliation as the crowd roared red in her ears. At the very least, her head might explode in a blaze of embarrassed flames.

“Bill. Nooo. No, no, no,” she moaned, turning her face to hide against his shoulder. “I can’t believe it. They really are trying to kill us with terrible verse!”

Bill shook his head mirthfully. “All part of the holiday, Laura. Who knew my deck crew was so poetic?”

> So please listen, dear leaders, we know the score.  
>  This attraction between you can’t be ignored.

> Try to bury or deny, hide as you like  
>  If you don’t just give in, you’ll damage your psych’.

> We know all about it and really don’t care  
>  Like when, on New Caprica, you frakked her hair.

Laura gasped. Bill just tugged the ends of her long hair.

> So, you’re frakking like bunnies! We are so proud  
>  That our leaders are happy, sexy, and loud.

> Let our insolent voices advise you both:  
>  Adama, you’d better that woman betroth.

The crowd had started laughing hysterically sometime around “a frak every hour keeps Cylons away” and didn’t stop for the rest of the Chief’s hendecasyllabic recitation. “There it is, folks. My apologies to Sappho, Catullus, the Admiral, and the President,” muttered the Chief sheepishly, barely audible above the din. “My mother was a priest. My father was an oracle. Gods forgive me. Thank you.”

He rushed off the stage, where Cally was waiting with a fresh drink for her husband. He pushed it aside, vomiting in his own empty jar, before rallying to accept the waiting beverage.

“I think I’m about to have another adventure out an airlock,” he told Cally miserably. “Except this time, they’re not gonna put a Raptor out there to catch me.”

 

 

 

X.   The leaders retreat.

“I take it back,” Laura murmured sheepishly into Bill’s shoulder. “I _know_ everyone knows about us.” He could feel the heat radiating from her face through the gauzy costume he wore.

“Laura, you’ve got to admit that was pretty funny. Plus, I think the Fleet just gave us permission to get married.”

At that she looked up at him, horrified. “Oh my gods, Bill.”

Unperturbed, he stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I know, I know. Not before we get to Earth. I’m still fine with that as long as you are.”

She smiled. “I am.” She slowly became aware of her surroundings once more and realized to her utter mortification that her nightmare was not yet over; the crowds of people around them were loudly chanting. “Kiss her!” “Come on!” “We demand satisfaction!” Various projectiles joined the bawdy taunts flying through the air.

“I think we better give these people what they want,” he said, looking amused. She sighed and favored him with a quick peck. This earned her an overwhelming chorus of “Booooo.” She was fairly certain it was Starbuck who yelled, “My grandmother kissed her dog better than that!”

“Uh-uh, that won’t do,” he chastised. “A real kiss.” Laura acknowledged to herself that the crowd had a valid basis for its dissatisfaction with her pathetic attempt at osculation; to further disappoint them could seriously compromise increasingly precarious crowd control; and, considering the content of that poem, she had little to gain by acting the vestal virgin. Recognizing her hesitancy, Bill took control of the situation as he cupped her face in his large hands and claimed her mouth possessively with his. Laura couldn’t help but give in to her body’s involuntary response to Bill’s amorous assault. Finally appeased, the crowd cheered loudly and wolf whistles broke out across the cavernous hangar bay.

Bill reluctantly released her and pulled away slightly. “That’s better,” he rasped. “I think this holiday is well underway, and our presence is no longer needed. What do you say we leave this party in the hands of our able replacements?”

“You know that if we leave together right now, we’ll just confirm everything that damn poem said.”

“Too late,” Bill observed wryly. She burst into a nervous fit of giggles, nearly falling over against him; her knees were still weak from his kiss.

“How do you think they knew about the brig?” he mused, mildly troubled. “I could have sworn I dismissed all the guards and made sure the cameras were off...”

“And what was that thing with the hair?” she hissed. “You told Saul about that one, didn’t you? Did you?” She sighed at his evasive smirk. “Dammit, Bill.”

Shaking his head in resignation, he held out his arm to Laura. “Come on, Princess. I still have to give you your present.”

She melted a little inside as his puppy-dog eyes caught hers in silent supplication. “Likewise, Husker. _Eamus domum tuam_.” With that, they left the hangar deck hand-in-hand, much to the amusement of their many spectators. Her heart lightened at seeing how happy everyone was, notwithstanding that it came largely at the expense of her own dignity, and Laura decided to own the moment. “Io Saturnalia,” she called out with the wide smile of a woman about to get laid, waving jauntily. “Enjoy your holiday.”

 


	5. Io, Saturnalia, Chapter XI

XI.    An exchange of gifts.

Laura and Bill strode through deserted corridors, reaching his quarters quickly. Giggles betrayed her anxious anticipation as he guided her through the threshold before locking the hatch securely behind them.

“Bill, did you know they were going to do that?” she asked him. She tossed her hat to the ground. “Now that I’m out of there, I can appreciate--somewhat--that it was humorous and not entirely inappropriate to the occasion. But if you knew!” She pounded his solid bicep harmlessly with her white-knuckled fist. “I would have appreciated some warning.”

“I swear I didn’t know,” he responded solemnly. His stony facade, however, broke quickly into laughter. “‘Angry Admiral’s glare will soon set him right!’ Oh, they know me too well!” He floated his sombrero over toward her princess hat; she was barely cracking a smile. “Come on, Laura,” he coaxed. “Isn’t this what you wanted? For the people to have some fun?”

“I would have preferred it not be at my own expense,” she huffed.

“Wait here,” he instructed her tenderly. She complied, her annoyance waning. He walked into the back room of his quarters, returning quickly with something cupped in his hand.

“So maybe,” he drawled, “the deck gang got inspired when they saw what I bought at the Saturnalia market.” He drew her hand out and placed his own handful in her grasp, curling her fingers around...clay dolls?

“Oh my gods, Bill!” she exclaimed. “Are these Lords of Kobol dolls...frakking?”

“I believe they can be positioned in any number of creative ways,” he said. She pulled the little dolls apart; sure enough, the priapus was adjustable (amazing, really, on such a minute scale; such workmanship!) and the female doll had several indented orifices that Laura guessed would fit the little peg just right.

She laughed, genuinely delighted. “This is too funny, Bill. I know clay dolls are traditional, but I can’t believe I’ve never seen ones like these before.”

He drew her close, taking the male doll from her hand. “Wanna play?” he rasped.

“Only if it’s in your rack,” she shot back.

“Ooh, bossy,” he taunted, grasping the lapels of her lavender robe. “Someone’s on a Saturnalia power trip.”

She snorted at that. “Me? I’m just a...lowly not-President of the Twelve Colonies.” She hung her head deferentially.

“That’s right,” he confirmed, tracing her peaked nipples. “For once, I outrank you, Laura.”

She hummed. “I don’t think so. We both gave up our rank, so technically we are equals.” She cocked her head playfully. “But I can go along with this. For you, on this ‘best of days,’” she allowed magnanimously.

“Get your cute luscious ass in that rack, Roslin!”

“Yes, sir. Okay, sir. Anything you say, sir!” She snapped off a smart salute and sashayed off toward her destination. Bill followed, dropping some of his clothes as he went.

Once in his bedroom, Laura looked around; Bill had indeed procured a couple of candles, and was busily lighting them. She snickered at the doll in her hand and placed it on the nightstand, amused that her manly Admiral had managed to surprise her with not one but two traditional presents after all.

She shimmied out of her robe and the skirt and shirt she wore beneath it, draping the articles over his desk chair.

“Did I tell you to get undressed?” he queried, his voice dangerously soft.

Crossing her arms underneath her breasts to push them up defensively, she shook her head. “You know, Bill, this ordering people around thing really isn’t much of a stretch for you.”

“Yeah, but actually following my orders would be for you.” His lips captured any retort she might have readied, and she submitted to his kisses as he eased her down onto the rack.

“Mmmm...yes...sir,” she sighed when he broke away for air.

He trailed his fingers along her bra straps, admiring the delicate material. “So you found some new things at the holiday market?”

“My gift to you,” she confirmed. "My other Saturnalia costume, as it were."

“Beautiful,” he breathed, placing a trail of adoring kisses from her shoulder and collarbone down to the creamy swells. She let her legs fall open to better display the patterned panties she wore. “Do those have Saturnalia wreaths on them?” he laughed, stripping off his remaining clothes and tossing them in the direction of his closet.

“Well, get closer and you can see for yourself,” she teased, kicking one of her legs toward him petulantly.

He gave her a warning look. “Careful, Princess,” he rumbled, dropping his face to her hipbone and nosing aside the festive panties, already soaked with the evidence of her desire. She arched her hips up as he pulled them off.

She gasped as his tongue made contact with swollen folds. “Yes...Bill...”

He reveled in the keening sounds of delighted gratitude he elicited from her as he ran his tongue up to her sensitive nub. She pushed her bra cups down and began playing with her nipples while he lapped at her hungrily.

Bill glanced up at her and noticed what she was doing. “No wonder it didn’t take you long to get worked up,” he observed approvingly before returning to his ministrations.

“Oh, Gods, Bill. I’ve been thinking about this for days,” she whimpered.

Her vocalizations reached a fevered pitch as he brought her toward the brink of ecstasy by flicking his tongue against her clit in time with her pounding heart. “Bill!” she gasped, pulling at his arms, which were anchored around her hips. “Not yet... I want to come with you inside me....”

He gave her one last savoring lick as he acquiesced and rose back up above her. “You’re not the one giving the orders here, Laura.”

“Nargh...no just...yes sir...” she sputtered out in between his continued efforts to drive her insane. He nipped her lips and palmed her breasts as his cock brushed against her sex, clearly pleased with himself at having reduced her to this inarticulate state and intent on keeping her there.

“Bill, lemme touch you,” she implored. He gave a curt nod and lazy thrust of his hips in agreement.

She reached down and wrapped her hand around his erection, giving it a few firm strokes. Deliciously slowly, she took her time positioning him at her entrance, already slick and receptive to his substantial girth. He slowly pushed his way home, and they exhaled twin sighs of relief when he was fully sheathed inside her.

He set a leisurely pace, thrusting in and out, and chuckled quietly when he recalled the line of the Chief’s poem accusing him of frakking “hard and so fast.” “Not bad for an Old Man,” he muttered aloud.

“Hmm, not so old for a bad man,” she countered saucily, panting as she gave his ass a light smack. She pushed her hips up to meet his, grinding her clit against his pubic bone and relishing the feeling of his cock against her inner walls.

She was surprised when he braced her against him and flipped them over so she was on top. “I want to watch you,” he explained.

She smiled; that was one order she would happily comply with. Having his eyes on her bare skin was a powerful aphrodisiac. That thought reminded her to reach behind her back and slip her bra off completely. She ground herself against him wantonly, craving more contact, more pressure. “What else do you want, Bill?

“I want to feel you touching me, Laura,” he ordered. She arched her back and straightened her arms to spread her fingers along his well-muscled chest. Trailing her fingers in light circles around his nipples, she leaned in closer to pepper his chest with kisses.

He rolled his hips into her; it felt so _good_. Her breath caught as she felt her body begin to tense up.

He felt it too. “Right there?” he asked her. He reached between them, his fingertip finding her clit and flicking lightly. “How’s that?”

“Yes, Bill...you know what I like. I’m gonna come...”

“Let it go, baby...yeah, Laura, that’s right...”

Laura exploded in an uninhibited series of loud moans as she came, followed shortly by Bill’s shuddering growl of release into her neck.

He shifted her off of him and gathered her up close, spooning her from behind. They both breathed deeply as their racing pulses slowed. He stroked her arm absently.

“This holiday was an excellent idea, Laura,” he murmured against her hair. "It's worth it just to hear you come like that."

“Mmm,” she agreed, turning her head to look at him with shifty, sated eyes. “Four more days of this. Who needs rivers of wine and fountains of milk and honey when I’ve got a naked and willing Admiral captive here in his rack?”

“Who’s the captive?” he teased back, holding her tightly and nuzzling her neck.

“Oh, right.”

“Hmm. I think I’ll let you be in charge next time.”

She smiled indulgently, her eyes drifting to the dolls on the nightstand. At some point Bill had added the male doll to join its mate in a tableau and arranged them in doggy style position. A silent suggestion? A promise for the next round? Laura didn’t care; all she knew was, she was game.

“Let’s take a nap, Laura,” Bill suggested, folding his leg over hers and drawing her even closer. She wiggled her ass against him. He drew lazy soothing circles on her hip and crooned, “Take it easy. We’ve got time.”

She drifted off to sleep in the soft flickering candlelight and tranquil embrace of her lover, her mind as clear as her schedule for the first time in years.  



End file.
